The Fragile Nature of Reality
by Idiot Number 42
Summary: How real can an illusion become? Is it real- or is Deidara just another victim of those sharingan eyes? And how can he tell...? ItaDei angst oneshot. Citrus-scented.


_Slashy ItaDei angst. Sex, but not very explicit. This is more of an existential loves-me-loves-me-not sort of thing than it is smut. Oh, and art, because no Dei fic is complete without art._

_I don't own._

* * *

Deidara wonders if he hates Itachi.

He wonders it now, even as they rut like animals between sweat-soaked sheets. Their relationship is a masterpiece of heat and passion and lust, painted in the dark hours of the night by a sharingan-eyed artist who has excelled beyond anything Deidara will ever succeed. How can he compete with those eyes? Deidara thinks that, if he does hate Itachi, then it is for that more than anything else- for cheapening his art. Now Deidara cannot sculpt without seeing red and black before his eyes, and even the final fleeting moment of glory is ruined by the memory of Itachi's illusions, dystopian otherworldly creations illustrating the fragile nature of reality- the very concept Deidara has dedicated his life to. To be beaten by Itachi-

More than anything else, it hurts. And so Deidara bites down hard on Itachi's shoulder, to punish him. Itachi, his guard down (trust, Deidara thinks, he trusts me) shudders from pain or pleasure or just to acknowledge Deidara's sudden fury. He doesn't bother asking why. He knows Deidara won't answer.

Deidara moves his hips in a way that makes Itachi moan, and as he does so, he asks himself: do I hate him?

Can I hate him?

The second question haunts him. It's not a matter of love or loyalty- it's those eyes. Those damned eyes.

How real can an illusion become?

Deidara wonders if it is even possible for him to hate Itachi. Has that sharingan burned so deeply into his mind that even his emotions are not his own anymore?

Does he hate Itachi?

Or has Itachi taken away everything but lust?

He comes with shudder and a cry and Itachi follows soon after. Deidara lies awake in his lover's arms, wondering idly if Itachi has hypnotised him. Raped him, in fact, for if it is true that Itachi has forced Deidara to want him this way then truly he is unwilling; the real Deidara might scream and shout and fight while the mesmerised Deidara lies docile in Itachi's arms. Perhaps that is why he is unguarded and trusting: because he knows Deidara cannot fight back. Ever.

Itachi kisses him, softly. Deidara makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob.

"Do I hate you?" he asks, and he is begging, pleading. "Itachi, yeah. Itachi. Please. Do I hate you, un?"

Itachi kisses him again. Red eyes whirl in the darkness- because even unarmed, Itachi is never that vulnerable- and god, they're so beautiful. So beautiful, so _beautiful_.

"Do you?" Itachi challenges him.

Deidara cannot bear to ask himself again. He clutches at his lover.

"Tell me this is real, Itachi, yeah," he begs. "Tell me I love you, yeah."

Itachi raises an eyebrow, but complies, just the same. "This is real," he breathes. "You love me."

"Tell me I love you for your art, yeah."

"You love me for my art," Itachi repeats obediently, kissing down Deidara's chest. The words spark in Deidara's head, and he realises that he knows how to prove it, one way or the other.

"Your eyes," he rasps. "I want to see your eyes, hm."

Itachi raises his head. His sharingan burns in the paleness of his face.

"No sharingan, yeah."

And suddenly, red seeps away into black.

Deidara stares at Itachi's eyes, ordinary and extraordinary at once. Itachi's sharingan, for the first time since Deidara has known him, is gone...

...and with it, any power Itachi might hold over Deidara is broken.

Deidara stares. And stares. And stares.

"_Bastard_," he hisses suddenly... and then he leans forward to kiss him full on the mouth.

"I thought you... it doesn't matter, yeah," Deidara whispers. "Love you, hmm."

Itachi, bemused, smiles. "Love you too."

Later Deidara will sculpt a bird- not a rough creation like the ones he fights with, but a perfectly crafted eagle, wings spread as if in flight. He will fire it in a kiln and paint it in black and red, and then he will set it free. It will explode in a perfect expression of the fragile nature of reality.

For right now, he rolls over and kisses Itachi again. This is real enough to make both of them happy, and that, Deidara decides, is all he needed to know.


End file.
